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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954586">Cumin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam'>incorrectbatfam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dick and Dami Week 2021 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Tumblr: Dick and Dami Week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:13:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alfred previously left the kitchen, the cabinets were not wide open, spice containers did not cover the entire countertop, and there certainly was not a twenty-five-year-old rummaging frantically through the pantry.</p><p>~</p><p>Dick and Dami Week day 4: <strong>Comfort food</strong> | Fear of abandonment | “Please don’t leave me”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfred Pennyworth &amp; Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson &amp; Damian Wayne, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dick and Dami Week 2021 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>DickAndDamiWeek2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cumin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Alfred previously left the kitchen, the cabinets were not wide open, spice containers did not cover the entire countertop, and there certainly was not a twenty-five-year-old rummaging frantically through the pantry. He waited at the kitchen’s edge, not wanting to startle the young man into dropping something fragile, but also out of confusion and curiosity. The inner spy in him said to survey the chaotic scene first. </p><p>Dick ran his fingers through his hair, tugging the knotted locks, sighing exasperatedly. “Where is it? <em> Where the hell is it?</em>”</p><p>Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Did you lose something, Master Dick?”</p><p>“Not exactly ‘lose’,” Dick said, “but I can’t find the cumin anywhere, and I <em> know </em> you bought some last week.”</p><p>It was then Alfred noticed the white cubed potatoes in a frypan on the burner and the spicy smell accompanying its curling steam. “If I may ask, what’s the occasion?”</p><p>“It’s not exactly an <em>occasion</em>,” Dick said. “Damian caught a bug at school so I’m making him his favorite: jeera aloo with roti. Still working on the second one.” He gestured to the giant dough ball on a flour-covered cutting board. “But I <em> need </em>to find the cumin first. Can you check on Dami for me, please?”</p><p>“Of course,” Alfred said. “I would have long ago had I known he is ill.”</p><p>This wasn’t the first time Damian got sick at Wayne Manor, but Alfred never noticed how <em>remarkably similar </em>Damian looked to a young Bruce until he saw his tiny body curled up in the middle of the massive bed practically drowning in silk comforters.</p><p>Damian squished the pillow over his ears. “Go away.”</p><p>“It’s just me, Master Damian. Master Dick informed me of your illness.”</p><p>He sniffed. “Grayson’s lying, I’m <em> fine</em>.”</p><p>What a Bruce-like thing to say. Alfred touched his hand to Damian’s clammy forehead and tutted. “Master Dick should be done with the food soon. Try and get some rest.”</p><p>“Can the cat stay?”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>Damian lifted the covers to reveal Alfred the cat nuzzled against his side.</p><p>Alfred hummed. “Normally I’d say no, but I believe I can make an exception for my namesake.”</p><p>Damian gestured to the empty teacup on the nightstand. “While I wait for Grayson, I request a drink. Preferably chamomile, with a hint of honey and lemon.”</p><p>“As you wish.”</p><p>Dick was still rooting through the kitchen when Alfred rinsed the cup and placed the kettle on the burner.</p><p>“Still no luck, Master Dick?”</p><p>Dick shook his head. “I don’t get it. It should be <em> somewhere </em> here.”</p><p>“May I take a look at the recipe?”</p><p>Dick handed his laptop over.</p><p>Alfred hummed. “It seems relatively straightforward. Why don’t you keep Master Damian company and I can finish it.”</p><p>“You sure?” Dick asked. “I know how busy you can be and I don’t wanna give you extra work.”</p><p>“Nonsense, lad. Now go do what big brothers are supposed to.”</p><p>“You’re the best, Alfie!”</p><p>Dick’s footsteps faded faster than an Olympic sprinter. Alfred chuckled before turning to the conglomeration of cookware and ingredients before him, as though the house had merged with a supermarket. But that was the cost of feeding the ever-growing family.</p><p>The potato cubes were already on the stove with the rest of the spices. Alfred lowered the heat and covered it as to not risk burning it before he could find the cumin. It was easy to see how it was Damian’s favorite—it smelled like a home ought to feel. Warm. Welcoming. Everything the boy had to learn after arriving at Wayne Manor. Everything Dick ever taught him.</p><p>(If anyone asks Alfred, he would personally march to the League of Assassins in nothing but his sleeping clothes and slap Ra’s Al Ghul on the upside of the noggin with Mary Poppins’s umbrella.)</p><p>He rolled out the roti dough. As he waited for the second pan to heat up, he began putting away the numerous containers Dick had left out, a fond smile decorating his face. </p><p>The pan was almost the right temperature and Alfred was almost done organizing the seasonings when the kettle whistled. He poured it into the china cup with a drizzle of honey and a lemon wedge; the steam fogged the bifocals clipped to his shirt. </p><p>Damian’s door was closed, but from the other side, Alfred heard Dick recounting one of his famous Titans tales. </p><p>Alfred knocked lightly. “Master Damian, I have the tea you requested.”</p><p>“Come on in,” Dick said.</p><p>Alfred wasn’t surprised to find Dick among the blankets scrolling through his photos. As he placed the cup down, he watched Damian—not unlike the cat—nuzzle into Dick’s side. It was then the dots connected themselves. Damian was little Bruce and Dick… Dick reminded Alfred of himself back in simpler times.</p><p>Alfred adjusted his posture and cleared his throat. “Your food will be ready shortly. Master Dick, shall I make you a portion too?”</p><p>Dick nodded. “Yes, please. Thanks, Alfie.”</p><p>Back in the kitchen, Alfred tossed the dough into the pan, and as it cooked he resumed putting away the seasonings. </p><p>He sliced the roti into quarters and arranged them on Damian’s favorite plate. All that’s left was the main dish.</p><p>Alfred’s thoughts strayed as he searched. Like most days, it strayed to his family.</p><p>As much it hurt to see a member ill, it was infinitely better than tending to their wounds after a long night on the field. He really shouldn’t be thinking like that, but so long as he kept it to himself, nobody would get hurt, but he would have to live with the dishonestly. He pushed whatever moral conundrum to the back of his mind and focused on the tasks at hand.</p><p>The important part was Damian’s not alone. He had parents that cared and a brother who loved him to bits. Things have changed. Things were more complicated, but sometimes complicated is better. And as long as Alfred was around, he’d spend every day making damn sure it stays that way.</p><p>Oh, there’s the cumin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, this is the worst one, I promise. Quality goes up from here.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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